The Lazarus War: Artefact (21 page)

“I was on the train with a woman – she was sitting near me—”

“Name?”

“Marceau, Elena.”

Kasha glanced down at the data-slate, clucking her tongue as she read. “We have her here. DNA confirmed her ID.”

I felt a burst of relief.

“Is she alive? Is she injured?”

“She’s in theatre right now.”

All energy drained from me. I collapsed back into the chair, my head in my hands. I couldn’t think. That ringing in my ears, in my head, was overwhelming. If Elena was dead, if she was really gone—

“Wait here,” Kasha said, backing into the emergency room again, reading from her data-slate. “Congrats on your promotion, by the way. Your personnel file just updated.”

And so I sat and waited, a captain now.

None of that mattered to me.

Not unless I had Elena.

Hours passed.

The same faces stared back at me. Military advisers visited some family members. I heard wails through the corridors, from adjoining family liaison rooms. “Sympathy suites”, they called them.

An enormous electronic board in the lobby listed the names of patients currently receiving medical attention. The list changed constantly, with updates such as IN THEATRE – AWAIT NEWS. Some posts were of a more final nature: SEE MORTICIAN.

Through tired, blurred vision I made out her name:

Other wall-mounted monitors broadcast the degree of devastation. Vid-feeds from drones, flown high over the explosion. The entire monorail train had derailed, and the force of the detonation had collapsed some adjoining buildings. Emergency services were on site. Police air-cars, ambulance ships. Military dropships, soldiers streaming the adjoining streets. All transport shut down. The sky was closed: orbital access suspended for the next twenty-four hours.

“Captain Conrad Harris?”

A small, elderly man stood in front of me. Weathered skin, a bright white drooping moustache. He was a doctor: white coat, liberally stained and splashed by iodine and blood. A veteran of the long war. He dug his hands into his pockets. Awkward, uncomfortable.

“Yes,” I said. I had the feeling that I was speaking too loud, that I was adjusting for the noise in my head. “Is she—?”

The doctor grimaced uneasily.

Please no—

“There was nothing that we could do. She suffered a significant blow to the abdomen.”

“I need to see her.”

The doctor fished something from his pocket: a cigarette. He flipped the lighter.

“Of course. Do you mind?”

“I need to see her –
now
.”

He bobbed his head, sucked on his cigarette.

Fuck no, fuck no, fucknofucknofuckno!

My blood ran cold as hypersleep cryogen, but my data-ports burnt red-hot. For all of my military prowess, there had been nothing I could do. Nothing I could actually do to stop that bomb going off.

“She suffered significant internal bleeding. We’ve tried nanite surgery, but the impact,” he shook his head, “was major. She won’t be released for at least a couple of days. We’ll have to keep her in for observation.”

My vision suddenly cleared, the whining in my head diminishing for just a second. I swallowed.

“She’s not dead?”

The doctor frowned. “No, Captain. But I’m afraid that the baby is.”

Elena wasn’t even on a proper bed. I supposed that those had been reserved for more serious cases. Instead, she was curled up, semi-foetal, on an examination couch – an inert medical scanner on a metal arm still propped overhead. They had put her in a private chamber, just off one of the ER corridors. The strip-lamp above flickered, waxing and waning.

I stood at the entrance to the room, gently pulled back the plastic curtain dividing the enclave from the rest of the ER. Such emotion ran through me, such depth of feeling that I could not process it all at once. My head throbbed, but my heart broke for her – for both of us.

Elena was drowning in a pale green hospital gown, far too big for her. Her hair was tussled, unkempt; make-up in streamers down her cheeks. She’d been crying – was still crying, as I watched her – but the noise had settled into regular sobs. The sort of noise that a person makes when they have no energy left to cry, when they cannot muster the strength to continue the physically draining action of producing tears. Her feet were bare – dirty, stained by blood and soot.

I went to her, and held her. She cried some more – now deeper, more heart-felt moans. I had never heard her cry like this and every noise that escaped her body fuelled the growing fire in my chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. My voice sounded stilted, formal: choked with grief.

“I did not know. I didn’t even know.”

We held each other for a long time, until Elena had cried herself to sleep, and the hospital staff told me that I had to leave the ER.

A new day dawned on Helios.

A contingent of security men collected me early. My squad reluctantly stayed at base camp – I was in this alone. Under armed guard, I was trooped across the compound.

The weather had improved significantly, and both Helios Primary and Secondary shone brightly on the horizon. It was hot and still outside; so different from the storm the day before. Difficult to imagine that I was on the same world.

Kellerman’s quarters were probably the largest on Helios Station, and could easily have been on any of the Core Worlds. An old oak desk dominated one wall, surrounded by upholstered leather chairs.
Real wood on an outpost this far from Alliance space:
the cost implications were shocking. Antique electric lamps were sunk into the walls and ceiling. Alcoves around the room were loaded with stacks of paperwork and data-slates. The walls were pinned with holographic plates and aerial photography of Helios’ surface. Many of the pictures were of the Artefact, but the images were always slightly skewed or out of focus.

The rest of the chamber continued in the same vintage theme. A series of photo frames hung behind the desk. Each of those held bleached, ancient pictures of the current and former presidents of the Alliance; even a hopelessly dated photo of President Underwood. He looked far more youthful than the last time I had seen him. That bizarre little detail gave me a sudden pang of homesickness – inadvertently reminding me of how far from
Liberty Point
we had come.

Deacon met me at the entrance to the room, and pulled up a chair in front of Kellerman’s desk. He kept his firearm across his chest and acknowledged me with a curt nod. Then he took up a post by the door, stock-still. With his worn features and sand-mat skin, he looked like a golem thrown up by the desert.

I sat down and the leather of the chair crunched. The room had three large, vaulted windows that gave a panoramic view over the desert. Right now, the sky looked a murky pink-red.

Kellerman trundled into the chamber, hovering over to his desk. He awkwardly reversed himself into position behind it.

“Damned chair,” he muttered. “Always getting in the way. My apologies for keeping you waiting, Captain. There is so much to do and so little time in which to do it. My body is not what it was. I trust that your leg has received some attention?”

“My science officer assisted,” I said bluntly. I added silently:
No thanks to you
.

Kellerman frowned and tilted his head. “Very well. As you can see, the manpower available to me on-station is significantly depleted. Medical and scientific personnel, in particular, are at a premium. So, let us start at the beginning – why are you here?”

“You failed to report to Alliance Command,” I said: the facts spilling out of me like an indictment before a court of law. “Your orders were to send a broadcast every week and you have failed to do so for the past twelve months. Command believed that a rescue operation had become necessary.”

Something in the response angered Kellerman and his frown deepened. “I already know that. You can stop wasting my time with information I already know. What do you
want
here?”

“Now? Just to get off this damned rock,” I said, meeting his gaze across the desk. “My crew will be reporting to Command as soon as we are able. I’ll need access to your communications satellite in order to send a broadcast to
Liberty Point
.”

Kellerman nodded absently – like his mind was elsewhere.

“I suppose that Command doesn’t want to lose sight of a significant investment.” I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Helios Station, or my team. “There is, after all, still a war going on. It might not be the hot war that our ancestors fought, but it is just as important. Even with the Treaty.”

There was something knowing in his eyes, for just a second, then it was gone.

“You will have access to Operations,” he said. He paused, considering his next response. “I’m a man of my word, Captain. I suppose that you deserve some sort of explanation. I am committed to my mission here. As you heard yesterday, Helios is a harsh mistress. The Krell are everywhere. The station has suffered a series of debilitating attacks and I have lost many personnel. I take the responsibility for the care of my staff very seriously.”

“Where is the rest of your staff, then?” I asked.
Over
two thousand men and women, all gone. That isn’t taking responsibility seriously. It’s madness
.

“That isn’t important.”

“They’re all dead?” There was no point indulging in niceties with this man; he immediately struck me as senseless.

Kellerman shook his head. “None of that is important. The site – the Artefact – that is what matters now. It really must be seen to be believed. I can explain my failure to report to Command.”

“It doesn’t matter any more. I just want to protect my people.”

“I think it’s best that I tell you anyway. If I don’t, then Command will only send another team to investigate. There may be additional unnecessary casualties.” He sighed. “The Krell have developed an interest in our radio communications. By sending a regular broadcast, we were almost
beckoning
them to our position. We found that when we refrained from broadcasting, the frequency of Krell raiding parties decreased significantly. Mr Deacon, bring me that data-slate.”

Deacon retrieved a battered data-slate from a nearby table. Kellerman called up some biological diagrams and slid it across the desk to me. The slate showed intensive and comprehensive examinations of Krell specimens, complete with annotations. Brain wave patterns, frontal lobe concentrations, dissections, examinations of the communicator antennae and spines found on the primary-forms.

“Certain radio waves – certain broadcast spectrums – actively
interfere
with the brain functions of the Krell. This is likely how the leader-forms exert their will over the lesser xeno-forms, the so-called primary-forms and secondary-forms.”

He was excited now, in full-flow: gone was the emotionless veneer.
Which is the real man?
I wondered. He motioned to Deacon again, who retrieved a stack of papers. The security chief looked decidedly unimpressed at being used as Kellerman’s assistant, but Kellerman didn’t seem to notice. He splayed the papers across his desk, searching for individual sheets and sliding them across to me. Soon, a stack of papers, slates and files was assembled in front of me.

“As I said, they are attracted to certain wavebands. These are interpreted by areas of the alien brain,” he pointed to a schematic showing parts of a primary xeno-form skull cavity, “and then obeyed as though they are a direct brain impulse from the actual organism.”

“How did you discover this?”

“As a result of the Artefact,” he said, drawing his words out. “By just listening to the broadcast, and observing how the Artefact affects the Krell population of Helios.”

I pulled back from the desk, and scanned over the documents, sighing heavily. For my own part, the documents didn’t seem to prove anything like what Kellerman was proposing. I was no scientist, but much of his evidence looked like the jumbled rantings of a madman rather than reasoned conclusions.

“If any of this is correct, then this site could break the Alliance or make the Directorate,” I said. “It cannot fall into the wrong hands. You were ordered to remain in contact with Command.”

Kellerman tutted in exasperation. The old Kellerman returned immediately.

“This is the most significant find in human history. It is more important that petty political squabbling and bureaucracy. I’m quite sure that the Directorate knows nothing of the Artefact.”

I baulked at that. To describe the Directorate–Alliance hostilities as squabbling was a step too far. Unexpectedly, I felt a twinge of grief for my mother, and for a life that had been denied. Kellerman’s facial expression didn’t reveal whether he had seen the shift in my presentation.

“The Artefact is what matters,” he repeated. “It is
glorious
, Captain. Simply glorious. Understanding the Artefact’s signal is more important than remaining in contact with Command.” Kellerman’s mood changed again, and his face positively glowed. “We have ascertained exactly what it does and why it was left here. But that is hardly the same as
understanding
the signal. The Artefact is something ancient, something so alien that even the Krell do not understand it.”

“I’ve heard enough of this,” I said quietly but sternly. “I need access to Operations.
Now
.”

“And as I have said, you shall have it. But there is time for that. Our satellite will not be in optimum position for communication with
Liberty Point
until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. It takes an inordinate amount of power to activate Helios Station’s radio antenna. I would prefer that you do so when the chances of making contact with the satellite are best. I am sure that you understand.”

“So long as we can send a broadcast to Command.”

“You have my word,” Kellerman said, nodding readily. “But that leaves us some time to fill. I don’t want this to be a wasted opportunity. There is something that I would like to show you – so that you can take an aspect of my findings back to Command, so that you can tell them how important my research really is.”

I predicted where this was going, and tried to head Kellerman off: “The Artefact? Our mission parameters specifically excluded visitation of the site.” I was happy for it to stay that way.

“No, most certainly not the Artefact. It would be almost impossible to reach the Artefact itself, such is the concentration of Krell in the surrounding sectors. This is something else.”

“What?” I asked angrily. I was fed up with Kellerman’s games.

“It will be easier to show you, rather than try to explain,” Kellerman said. “But it is quite a discovery. Tomorrow morning, we are going to go on an expedition into the desert.”

Behind me, I heard Deacon groan. Kellerman scowled at him.

“We’ll take a crawler. There will be room for some of your squad, if you wish. Bring along a couple of soldiers. Those of a more martial disposition will undoubtedly appreciate the find.”

“So long as I have access to Operations,” I said, as I stood to leave the room.

Kellerman’s face remained fixed, but something flashed in his eyes. “Tomorrow, Captain. You will have access tomorrow. Until then, you are free to move about the station as you please. You’re not a prisoner here, but I will bid you farewell until tomorrow morning.”

Back at the hab, I hastily convened another meeting.

I was dubious of Kellerman’s explanations, of his staged performance. He was hiding something, of that I was sure. But equally, he was the authority on Helios, and only he could sanction use of the deep-space communications array. For now, at least, we had to play ball.

I relayed everything that Kellerman had said to my team. This was my decision, how to work the situation, but I’d never been one to take decisions without exploring them with my squad. They were a tempering counsel.

“So, if we go through with this, we can use the Ops centre?” Kaminski asked.

“That’s what Kellerman says.”

“Do you trust this crazy old bastard?”

“Not at all. But he knows the planet better than us, and I don’t think that he’s lying about the satellite. If our best chance of sending a signal off Helios is to go out into the desert and see whatever it is he wants to show us, then so be it.”

Kaminski nodded. “I suppose so.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Jenkins added, without any further explanation. “Did he tell you what he wants to show you?”

“He kept that part under wraps. But I suppose he is right about a report back to Command. If we organise an evac without making any effort to investigate Kellerman’s research, then questions are going to be asked.”

“I guess,” Jenkins said, clucking her tongue.

“I’m going to need a couple of volunteers to join me tomorrow,” I said. I could order my troops to join the expedition, but I’d much rather have two willing volunteers.

“I can’t say I want to go,” Blake said, “but it beats sitting around the hab all day.”

“I’ll go,” Kaminski added.

That selection suited me: I wanted to keep Blake close, after his disclosure the previous night, and I wanted to keep an eye on Kaminski just because. He’d made it plain that he’d rather shoot his way out of the situation than reason with Kellerman, and I didn’t want to come back to the station to find that he’d implemented that plan.

“I just wish that we could climb into the simulator-tanks and sim-up,” Blake said. “Would make sense.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Kaminski said. “We’re on a hostile planet, surrounded by fish heads. Maybe we should wait until the simulators are repaired.”

“Simmer down. You both know that the tanks are out of action.” I frowned, looked over the group. “Where is Olsen, anyway?”

Jenkins sighed and shook her head. “He’s already taken a look at the simulators, and he isn’t sure whether they can be repaired. Reckons it will take a few days, minimum. He went with some of Kellerman’s research staff. Said he’d be back later.”

“That sees to ’Ski’s idea, at least for now,” Martinez said.

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Kaminski grunted.

Of course, I couldn’t use my sims even if I wanted to. My data-ports unconsciously throbbed for a moment and I rubbed the back of my neck.

“It’s decided then. Kaminski, Blake – be ready for pick-up at sunrise tomorrow. Martinez, Jenkins – stay on-station and keep an eye on the hab.”

“What do we do until tomorrow?” Martinez asked.

“We wait,” I said. “I like this even less then you, but if we can get out of this situation without any more bloodshed, then that has to be worth something.”

I couldn’t sleep that night, either, so I took watch duty again. My ribs felt considerably better, or at least sufficiently numb for me to operate, but my leg still ached.